if the seas catch fire
by fiesa
Summary: Crossing Lines. Two years a team: this is what they have learned. Team. (S01/02) AU from the finale, companion piece to "take me home (in a blinding dream)". Complete in seven (more-or-less interconnected) chapters.
1. Arabella Seeger

**if the seas catch fire**

 _Summary: Crossing Lines. Two years a team: this is what they have learned. Team. (S01/02) AU from the finale, companion piece to "take me home (in a blinding dream)". Complete in seven chapters._

 _Warning: AU, disregarding every character death of the season 2 finale. This is supposed to be the plot to "take me home", but I'm rubbish at setting up deep background plots, so be warned. Rated T for minor swearing (mostly Tommy being Tommy), violence, post-traumatic stress disorder._

 _Set: post-season 2 finale. (Shortly before / a few months after.)_

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply. Title and poem by e. e. cummings, "dive for dreams"_

* * *

 **i. Arabella Seeger**

The one who convinces her to join the ICC team is not Tommy.

In the past, she mostly worked without a partner. It wasn't that she couldn't work with one. It was just that her partners seemed to leave after a short time, one transferred to a national squad, one left due to family reasons. Or they might have been injured in the line of duty. Sometimes, the names and faces blur together. Similarly, her superiors have come and gone; no one special enough for her to develop a closer relationship to. The last one of many, many tiny droplets that have hollowed her out is the one that lets Genovese escape. For his betrayal and cowardice, he is rewarded with silence. And Arabella thinks _this cannot be it._

There must be more.

She devoted her life to a cause other people spit on. This, in itself, wouldn't be so bad – if the people looking down on her wouldn't have sworn the same oaths, hadn't pledged themselves to the same cause as her, as well. On a sunny afternoon in September, Arabella Seeger looks at her superior and knows she cannot do this anymore.

It is different with the ICC team.

They work together, here. Lieutenant Vittoria and Detective McConnell and former detective Hickman and Kommissar Burger. They work with each other, and for each other, and around each other like they never did anything else. They care for each other and protect each other and laugh together, even Hickman, who seemed like a veritable ice cube at first, dark and detached and uncaring. Tommy pushes them forward, Sebastian makes them laugh, Eva hovers protectively and Hickman defends them, and they blend together so seamlessly Arabella cannot help but wonder what had to happen in the first place for them to become this close. But then, maybe she's imagining things. Because one reason why they are there in the first place is the man that found them and brought them together.

Before Arabella joined the team, it was Tommy she liked best.

But he wasn't the reason why she joined them. He might have talked to her, might have encouraged her, might even have been the one to recommend her to Dorn. He might have been the only one of the team she knew better. But the one who made her _want_ to stay was not Tommy but the Major. Louis Daniel, who, despite his injuries and scars, was unable to sit still, who drove out to the country to return two missing young girls to their parents. The one who watched, with quiet satisfaction, as the parents realized their children weren't dead. The man who talked to her without prejudice and about her past without judgement. The man who lived and breathed all the things Arabella had strove toward for her entire life, and, in a flash, the knowledge was _there_ : this was a man she could work for. _Wanted_ to work for. Louis Daniel was a man who _understood._ For that, her eternal loyalty was not too much to pay.

* * *

It is possibly the worst week of her life: Hickman decides to leave them, Eva disappears, Tommy is shot at in the middle of the street, he and Sebastian rush off to Spain for Eva as soon as they get the go, a band of crazily good, annoyingly-like-the-team criminals keeps them always a step behind them and the Major is shot by a mad psychologist.

 _No. Not again. Please._

When the emergency helicopter arrives at the farmhouse in the outskirts of Paris, the Major has long gone into shock. Arabella is close behind them, having disregarded every possible speed limit on the way. Hickman's call came in twenty minutes before that. He had gone to distract the psychologist, the former victim of the prison outbreak, and the Major had been on his way to pick him up after their plan to trap the jewel thieves went off successfully. Tommy and Sebastian had flown off to find Eva, who had left a few weeks earlier and had somehow run into trouble, which had left Arabella to drive back to the hotel by herself. It also meant she would probably be doing the whole paperwork by herself, but it was worth it. They'd caught a ring of dangerous criminals and they had stopped another robbery. And they had done so without casualties, seeing as Tommy's head really seemed to be made of granite.

The radio crackles.

 _Officer down in a farm house in Fontenay-Trésigny, requesting immediate medical assistance. Multiple gunshot wounds._

There is no reason. No reason at all to suspect this has anything to do with the ICC team, anything with the case they've been working on. None at all. But Arabella _knows._ (She probably heard Hickman mentioning the farm retreat the psychologist had withdrawn to, or Dorn had said it sometime.) She knows like she knows her own heartbeat.

She doesn't think she ever drove this fast before.

Hickman sits on the stairs to the farmhouse, still as a statue, and watches the EMTs hastily setting up the transport. He barely blinks. Amanda doesn't dare to meet his eyes.

"What happened?"

"She shot him when he walked in. Just pointed and shot. I wasn't quick enough."

Later, thinking back at this scene, she'll remember the hate in his voice, the abyss of guilt and self-loathing. She'll also remember that the report said he managed to wrestle the gun away from the murderer before the third shot was fired, despite his bad hand, despite everything. That he called the helicopter. She'll remember the report said the Major might not have survived without him, that Hickman's hand had to be treated and he, despite the pain, refused the painkillers he was offered. Right there, she only feels the coldness of the early fall night.

"Where are Tommy and Sebastian?"

"On their way to back up Eva."

The EMTs are loading the gurney with the Major's unconscious form into the helicopter. Lights flash through the night, red-white-blue, images flashing in and out like scenes of a shadow theatre. The rotor is making one hell of a racket. Hickman's hands and clothes are stained with blood.

"What did Dorn find out?"

He hasn't heard yet. Arabella remembers that he probably was on his way over from The Hague when they were briefed by the Major.

"Seems like her parents faked their death to go under. Burned dead bodies in their place, gave them the mother's jewelry and the father's golden teeth. That's what Eva ID'ed them with at that time."

Hickman's eyes are glued to the helicopter. "Her parents might not do anything to her, but I don't know about others. It could be a trap."

"The Major…" She swallows. "Tommy and Sebastian were told to keep in contact. They should be arriving in Spain in three hours."

It is the first time Hickman takes his eyes from the Major's unconscious form. He glances around as if he is searching for answers, as if they were written into the darkness somewhere around him. Of course, they are not. He breathes in deeply, hesitates, shakes his head minutely. Closes his eyes again. Breathes out again and turns to look at her, his grey eyes so dark she cannot distinguish between his pupils and his iris anymore.

"Can you stay with him, Arabella?"

She's never seen him this exhausted before.

"Of course."

"Keep me posted. About _everything._ "

He is off before she can think straight. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Back to The Hague, to talk to Dorn. If they're up against they might be up, they need all the backup they can get."

She can see his reluctance in every step that takes him away from his friend and superior, in the rigid slant of his shoulders, his balled fist. He leaves, nevertheless.

The Major is transported to the nearest hospital in Paris.

Arabella sits in the waiting area like a statue, barely breathing, while he is put through six hours of emergency surgery. They almost don't let her see him afterwards but she bullies her way through and into the ICU _(if you try to stop me you will have to do so by force);_ he's white as a sheet and looks small and fragile and so completely different to the man she knows.

She focuses on the barely visible rise and fall of his chest and waits.

His wife arrives. Arabella leaves the room when she hears voices in the corridor. Rebecca Daniel barely acknowledges her, a fleeting handshake and she flies past her, eyes for nothing but for her husband. Reports come through, they've found the woman who shot him; she tried to run but was apprehended at the train station. Dorn is already on her; the bitch will be glad if she still remembers her name after the trial. For all she cares, the woman can drop dead right now. Arabella sits down on the uncomfortable chair in front of the ICU again and guards the entrance.

It's one of the longest days of her life.

The next evening – she has only left to go to the ladies' room, and to scarf down stale sandwiches from the cafeteria with some horrid coffee – Rebecca leaves the room for the first time. Her eyes are rimmed red and her face is haggard, but she looks composed. With her comes the surgeon, his white coat immaculate and his glance sympathetic.

"His condition is stable."

Hickman calls that same moment. Eva, Tommy and Sebastian are on their way back. He sounds even more tired than before, she guesses he didn't get any sleep, either.

"What about the Major?" His voice breaks halfway through the sentence.

"He's still unconscious. But the doctors say…" She takes a deep breath and feels her chest expand in what feels like the first time since she arrived at the crime scene.

"They say he will pull through."

Something clatters loudly at Hickman's end of the line, like a dropped cup or dish. She doesn't ask what happened.

"Stay with him."

"I will."

It is one of the longest and worst, and also one of the best, days of her life.

* * *

She is not the only one to whom Louis Daniel is important, that becomes evident over the course of the next days.

Sebastian, Eva and Tommy fly over directly from Spain. Eva has a nasty gash on her face and one arm in a sling. Tommy's head wound hasn't quite healed yet, either, and Sebastian looks like a ghost. They all look like they've taken it up with the mob (maybe they have) but they've come out alive and breathing, and that is what matters. The Major is still in an artificial coma. Hickman arrives some hours later. Nothing seems different with him, but when the others aren't watching she catches him looking at them. The mix of relief, worry and fondness is so obvious she has to turn away.

They stay at the hospital that night, all five of them.

They barely talk. Eva falls asleep and Tommy covers her with his jacket. He and Sebastian converse in low tones before they, too, fall silent. Arabella feels her eye lids drop. When she starts up, all the others are asleep except for Hickman. He watches them, his eyes soft, and she dozes off again, instinctively sensing the same that made her colleagues let down their guards, as well.

 _They're safe._

* * *

Two weeks pass in a blur. The Major is transferred to a hospital in The Hague. The bullpen greets them, quiet and familiar. It's like they've never been gone in the first place. But Eva sometimes starts for no reason, and Sebastian and Tommy watch her anxiously, as if she might break any moment. Dorn drops in and out, like a white specter that never really takes on a corporal state. The Major wakes up a few days into the third week, blinking awkwardly and then grunting in pain as his wife almost falls onto him.

Suddenly, they breathe more easily.

* * *

Arabella is supposed to deliver something to him some days later – he asked for some files from his desk – and almost walks in on him and Hickman talking.

She didn't know he was there.

"You're going back to the US."

Silence, and then: "I wanted to."

"You're not?" Even without seeing him, she can see the inquiring lift of one brow on the Major's face.

"I don't think it's right to leave now."

Something like a rasp, and she realizes the Major is chuckling. It sounds horrible, but it is a laugh.

"Carl, I'll be fine. You have to go. She is waiting."

"But-"

"I'll be fine, Carl. _We'll_ be."

Arabella smiles.

Everyone says it's Hickman who's the one who cares the least. But he's not. Rather the opposite. He always cared for the team most, worried for them. Tried to protect them. And now, he's leaving them. It makes her sad, but she is happy for him, as well. He's given so much for the team: now it's his turn to receive. She'll make sure he doesn't need to worry for the others anymore.

She knocks, and enters when she hears the Major call out.

"Arabella." His face is white and gaunt, but his eyes are still blazing in the way she has known them to. "How are you? And the others?"

Arabella looks at Hickman quickly, but he avoids her eyes. She smiles at her boss, instead.

"We won't be fine until you are back. But we're getting there."

The Major actually chuckles. "That's good to hear. Until then, there are a few things I'd like you to do…"

Here is what Arabella Seeger has learned: sometimes, people grow close because one person brings them together.

 _(This team is worth protecting at all costs.)_


	2. Tommy McConnell

_A/N: Thank you, Mascota and tova, for reading and reviewing!_

* * *

 **ii. Tommy McConnell**

The bullpen is dark.

It's late already, around eleven pm. Eva left early, not glancing at either him or Sebastian. He hopes she went to see the shrink, as the Major asked her to. As he asked them all to do, actually. Tommy really, really hopes Eva is going to see someone who can help her more than they can by just being with her here, every day, because she has been looking so much more tired and thin in the last weeks. It is like a part of her is slowly disappearing, and it scares him. Usually, Tommy wouldn't even _dream_ of going to see a shr- a _psychologist._ But if the Major asked him – well. He guesses that only shows how screwed all of them really are.

 _I don't want to lose another son._

Tommy hasn't had a father since the day he snuck out and joined the police forces.

Any other parents than his would have been proud of him. A traveler kid, an outsider, uneducated, wild: the Irish kid with a mouth and a penchant for attracting trouble. Who skipped school more than he attended and dropped out early. Who was caught pick-pocketing, smoking and drinking. The kid who would rather speak with his fists than with reason, and whose answer was violence more often than not: that Irish kid made a one-eighty, attended the Academy, learned to follow orders (if not rules) and made his way up the ranks quicker than any other, well-off snob Brit kid.

When he graduates from the Academy (not with honors, because he is still too wild to _not_ talk back if talked _down_ to, but clearly above average no matter how little his instructors like it), his father puts a bounty on his head.

 _Bloody thanks, Da._

So he went out and did what he had taught himself to do: use his past for the present. Fights against crime lords, arrests gang bangers, protects civilians. Whenever he meets Travelers, they sneer at him or worse. Still, Tommy never turns his back on them. They are his family, after all: they have cared for him and raised him, and he likes to think he's taken the best and the worst of the two worlds he knows and somehow made it _work._ The idealism wears off sometime in his third year – after taking down a ring of sex slave traffickers – but that isn't why he was doing the job anyway. He is doing it to _set things right_. The world was fucked up enough as it was. He's just here, trying to pick up the pieces.

He still thinks his superiors in the squad were trying to get rid of him when they recommend him for Dorn's taskforce. On the other hand, he knows Dorn and the Major choose each potential member carefully and critically. So maybe they were blind the day his file was dumped on their desks? Maybe. Maybe they saw something in him he never saw in himself, and neither did anyone else. Sometimes Tommy doesn't know whether to be grateful or to hate them for singling him out. Or whether he should hate himself for joining the ICC in the first place. Life would have been so much easier without these guys.

The day he walks into the Traveler camp to see for his own eyes whether his kin are involved in the distribution of poisoned drugs on London's streets is the first time in ages.

Nothing's changed.

They greet him with hateful glances and sharp words. They shoot at him; cast him out all over again. The lads in the holding cell still are the same, ragged and violent and full of hate he totally gets but cannot feel anymore. And then his own Da lifts his fists and greets him with blood, denounces him again and again, and Tommy is so, so _fed up_ he could scream. He doesn't realize until later, though, in the parking garage, with Hickman's calming, watchful presence in his back and Rose begging him to help them while her eyes scream bloody murder. There, that moment, is the first time that he thinks:

 _Let them burn._

Of course it doesn't work that way. A mere hour later he is running into the camp, hell-bent on saving everyone from that shite guy Lennon and his henchmen, and the only thing on his mind is _I have to protect them, fuck them all._

It's not rational, doesn't make any freakin' sense, but when did it, after all?

And, of course, as thanks, his Ma asks him to rattle on the family.

Did she realize, his Ma, what she asked from him? Did she know what it meant for a child to be told that one wasn't necessary anymore? Was it worth it, getting her husband and her youngest son back and losing him completely? Maybe they never realized. Maybe they never understood the simplest thing of it all. Maybe it was because he never told them, but really, was it so hard to understand? How often had he shouted it at them, screamed it, even tried to beat it into them? But they don't even acknowledge it when he puts himself in between them and the police in order to protect them. It is so simple, really, and, at the same time, they will never understand: that everything he ever has done, the thought that gave him strength when he didn't know how to continue, that the only reason why he had made it through the Academy without surrendering; the one thing that, most recently, had even made him lie to those he considered his close colleagues – that it had always been _them_. It had all been for their sake – and nobody gave a damn shite. He'd always thought he was strong enough to live with their hate as long as he still was a part of the family; his mother's child, his brothers' sibling. Now, finally, he realizes that with his involvement into the case he has been cast out _again_. And it is not like the other times: this is his last, final exile. From here on, he will never be able to go back.

Why would parents do something like that to their children?

"Detective McConnell."

Dorn is like a freakin' ghost, sometimes. Tommy isn't sure whether he hasn't heard him because he was occupied or because the prosecuter just materialized from thin air. He puts on his grin.

"Hi there."

"Why are you still here?"

Tommy points at the stacks of paper on his desk. "Work."

"Ah." Dorn nods his head. "The mills of bureaucracy, as the German proverb says."

Tommy shrugs. "Don't know about those."

What he knows, though: Michael Dorn never does anything without careful thought. Every word, every gesture, is a carefully arranged tapestry in which even the smallest detail has a meaning. Tommy knows people like him. He is weary of them, to say the least. Dorn has done everything to help them except for one time, and it's _that_ time that is stuck in his throat like a particularly sharp piece of glass.

Dorn doesn't seem to notice. Instead, his eyes roam the bullpen. Five desks – only four of them occupied. The Major's office is dark; he has been there in the past week, but he still cannot work long. Tommy is not the only one who cannot express how glad he is that Louis Daniel survived and decided to return to the ICC. He can see it in every hidden glance that darts towards the small office when the lights are on inside, be it Seeger, Sebastian or Eva. Even Dorn seems affected, because when he finally speaks, it sounds like he is speaking to himself.

"It seems so empty."

It could have been emptier.

Eva, Sebastian and Tommy made it through. The Major survived. Arabella didn't leave.

Hickman did.

Tommy is no stranger to resentment. Hickman… He was a part of the team, a vital one. He had been there. He had helped them. He had watched over them, silently – and then he simply left, as if the two years with them hadn't meant anything to him. Tommy knows the feeling of homesickness, can relate to the fact that a part of Hickman isn't in The Hague but in New York. That he can't feel complete without that part. Still, it feels as if he _abandoned_ them, left them when they needed him most. One after another, the people that are important to him leave him, some involuntarily and some by their own choice, and it is the latter that he cannot forgive.

(He never got around to talking to him. Get things sorted out. It didn't work before, couldn't be put into words. So his own brother had been on the gang that had held Hickman hostage in the bank? He couldn't even think anything to that, much less had an idea what to say. But… things happened. Now his own head is clear, now, he might be able to explain. Only now, just as always in his fucked-up life, he's too late.)

"Yeah, Hickman took the flower pots with him when he left."

"Do I hear resentment there, Detective?"

"How would I know what you hear?"

 _Tommy,_ Eva says, admonishing, only that her voice does not sound like that anymore. She sounds like she is broken, and he knows she is. It makes him even angrier.

"It sounds like you are missing someone."

"I am missing shite." _Who wants that old geezer back, anyway._

Dorn smiles. He freakin' _smiles_. "Oh, didn't Louis tell you?"

"Tell us what?"

"Hickman's coming back."

Tommy glares at him. "Don't bullshit me."

"Detective McConnell. Would I ever?"

Yes, you would. We wouldn't. Neither one of the team would lie about something like that.

"If NYPD doesn't want him, they're stupid."

"Now you surprise me, Detective. You did seem like you would be happy to have him back in the team."

Tommy glares harder. It's a miracle, really, that the man in front of him hasn't collapsed from cardiac arrest yet, but it's _Dorn_ he's talking about, so whatever. "Didn't he leave to get his hand replaced?"

Dorn looks at him, his brows drawn up into the crown of his white hair. "And how would you know that?"

A stab of triumph, empty but satisfying. It's not about the victory, he thinks. It's about the principle.

"I'm not stupid. He was looking at that bionic limb thing, and he went to see a doctor."

"Wouldn't you want to go back home at one point?"

"You mean he missed New York? Maybe. But I think it would have taken more than that to make him leave."

"The team is perfectly capable of functioning without Mister Hickman, Detective McConnell."

"Yes." Tommy nods. "But we're better together." _The Major knows. I know. And you know that, as well, Dorn._

Dorn pretends not to hear the thinly veiled animosity in Tommy's voice. Tommy can't really work up anger at the man, either. There's something else working its way from his guts to his chest, and he refuses to analzye it lest it might give the man in front of him a foundation for his taunts.

"So he's really coming back?"

"In two weeks or so, I imagine."

There's nothing he can say. His resentment is doing strange things: _what took you so bloody long_ is warring with _stupid idiot do you think we won't get anything done without you_. It is daunting, the prospect of having the whole team together again. Of not feeling so bloody _incomplete_ anymore when looking at the bullpen. _Maybe he can help Eva._ _Maybe he will listen to my apology._ Maybe they can continue from where they left off, as a team. Why are they so attached to each other, anyway, Eva and Sebastian and Seeger and the Major and him and Hickman?

Is it because they each saw the worst in each other, the fears and flaws and mistakes?And because, no matter what happened, nobody ever judged the others?

"I also imagine he won't come alone."

Now it's Tommy's turn to frown. "He won't? Now _that's_ a surprise."

"One of the good ones, I hope. God knows we need some of those. Well, I need to be off now. Good night, Detective McConnell."

"Night, Dorn."

He listens to Dorn's footsteps recede up the flight of stairs until the darkness and silence swallow the sound once again. The desks are still bathed in shadows, but the room doesn't feel empty anymore.

It's strange.

Tommy's never given much thought about what people thought about him. Whether they liked him or not wasn't his concern. His own family had cast him out just like that – why would he want other people close to him only so they could do the same to him again? Nobody had ever bothered with him.

But these people – they did. They _cared_ for him. They trusted him, stood with him, didn't doubt him. They made freakin' _cupcakes_ for him. They had given him a gun, and an evening of their precious time. They _trusted_ him. They _worried_ for him – shite, even Hickman worried, and that's something, isn't it?

(Sometimes he has the feeling Hickman worries most of them all, even more than Eva.)

And all that time they spent together. The cases, the after-mission-debriefs, the occasional work-crammed Saturdays. Tommy never tagged himself as someone who wouldn't mind working through the weekends, but strangely, he does not mind _too_ much with them. It was like they were something more than just a team, no idea, maybe friends. And even though Hickman annoyed him with his stupid, stuck-up behavior, and Sebastian made these stupid leprechaun jokes, and Eva refused to let them in, and the Major thought they needed to be protected from everything, and Arabella ordered them around – somehow, they were _more._

And Tommy does not hate that.

So Hickman's coming back. And Eva… Eva will, too, Tommy'll make sure of that. He's sure, too, that Arabella and Sebastian will help him. And the Major will smile like a stupid _father_ or whatever when he thinks nobody's watching him, and they will be together again.

 _You'd have loved this, Siena._

Strangely, the darkness doesn't feel like it's choking him anymore.

Grabbing his jacket, he casts one last look at the bullpen: five desks, a sixth one in the adjoining office. Five people. Five lives.

These are the people, he thinks, he wants to be with now. This is what he has chosen for himself. These annoying, meddling, worrying, brilliant and broken people who, above all, _care_ : they will be his family, from now on. He'll be with them, laugh with them, cry with them, fight by their side and have their backs. He'll protect them, at all cost. That's what he's good at, after all.

Here is what Tommy McConnell has learned: _team_ means _family._

 _(You can stop apologizing for your family, Tommy. We're your family now._

 _-Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse._

 _-Shut up and eat your cupcake.)_


	3. Eva Vittoria

**iii. Eva Vittoria**

Hickman walks into the bullpen on Monday, tall and lean and weathered. Andrews trails behind him, a black shadow to his grey, her expressive face and her slim figure contrasting with him almost beautifully.

Do they know how they look, Eva wonders, distinctly, and then quickly follows Tommy, Arabella and Sebastian when they stand.

"Carl Hickman," Sebastian says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Former NYPD profiler."

"Worked for the ICC for two years," Tommy adds, moving forwards with an assessing gaze. And Arabella finishes: "Left the team to return to the States two and a half months ago."

Andrews glances at them, her brows raised, but says nothing.

Hickman glares. "Is this supposed to be funny?"

"And he's back!" Tommy and Sebastian high-five. Eva feels a smile tug at her lips, but she does not move.

"It's good to have you back," Arabella says and Hickman nods at her, and then his sharp gaze sweeps over her.

She imagines his face loses some of the severity it usually shows when he looks at her, but she isn't sure. It's hard to tell, with him. There is a lot Eva would like to say to him, things she never would be able to say out loud. Things like _thanks for watching out for us,_ or _thanks for having my back_. The memory of his voice, calm and reassuring, putting one and one together and rapping out instructions which she, Tommy and Sebastian followed blindly, is still fresh in her mind.

"Detective Andrews. Carl." The Major limps out of his office, painfully slowly, but on his own two feet. "It's good to see you. Welcome back."

And then, just like that, it is as if nothing ever had happened.

They make it through two cases before it hits her: how wrong this is. How is it possible that, after everything that happened, they can just continue on like that? How can the Major still smile that warmly, and Tommy and Sebastian still bicker like that, how can Arabella pretend not to smile when someone is telling jokes and Hickman pretend not to care? How can they come to the headquarters, day after day, and just walk in like that without _remembering_? These days, whenever Eva closes her eyes, she sees her parents die. And if she thought she'd gotten used to the thought before, she is forced to rethink the situation, now, because she knows the people that died to build the make-believe story she always thought was true were innocent people. She knows that her parents faked their death to get away and left her behind, and that the people that tried to kill her, Sebastian and Tommy had tried to get to her parents through her. And her parents had known – and hadn't done anything to stop them. She hates them.

If she's never been sure of anything before, she is sure of it now.

They left her alone. They left her, believing they were dead. They went away without her, continuing on with their own lives, while she was stuck in a limbo: unable to walk forwards, unable to look back. They built a new family. Without her.

She hates them, _hates_ them-

"I hate them! I fucking _hate_ them! They can all go die!"

The nineteen-years-old suspect is raging at Hickman and Eva, his eyes bloodshot. A few droplets of spit fly from his lips. It is not the kid's first rant of the kind. Eva is tired, and weary, and something in this kid just… rubs her the wrong way, she supposes. So the kid's been suspected of cross-border drug dealing of crystal meth, for which he used his father's diplomatic status. He's a typical rich kid, educated parents that are busy all the time, private school, large allowance. Few friends, no prior offenses, enough brains not to take drugs himself: Hickman thinks he's more a threat to himself than to anyone else. His suppliers obviously knew that. Still, the kid's creative use of a recording device caught Sebastian's attention, along with hints at a thorough data cleaning on his hard drive that points at the fact that he's hidden information – possibly on the higher-ups in the ranks - somewhere. It's quite possible he knows far more about the drug cartel than he's letting on. Now, however, it seems like he's more a scared kid hating with mommy-and-daddy-issues than an accomplished criminal.

"They are fucking liars! I couldn't care less if they dropped dead right now! I don't need them – they can go to hell for all I care! I-"

It's more than she can take.

Something in Eva moves before she realizes. The next thing she remembers is that she's leaning over him, her hand stinging and her breath coming in short bursts. The kid stares at her as if she is an alien, holding his hand up to his quickly reddening cheek.

"Did you just slap me?!"

She thinks she hears Hickman swear, but it must be a mistake. He never would use-

He gets up almost in slow-motion, as if he knows he won't need to stop her from doing anything else. Eva's so completely stunned of her own actions that she can't even think straight. The door opens and Andrews walks in, having watched from the observation chamber. There is the usual, weird moment of nonverbal communication between her and Hickman, and then Eva is being led (dragged) out by the brown-haired woman. The last thing she hears is the kid starting to complain and threaten to sue her, and Hickman's voice, coolly advising him not to do anything stupid.

"Dammit, Eva," Andrews says, turning to her after depositing her in a chair in the second interrogation room rather unceremoniously. "You know we can't punch the suspects! If he sues us, we won't get any of the information he has."

Eva lowers her head, still unable to form any coherent thought.

Though that's not entirely true. She cannot think, because one single line of thought dances through her mind, passes by again and again. It's impossible to ignore it when it seems to scream with all the desperation and loneliness she thought she had long buried.

 _At least you still have parents, you ungrateful little-_

"Wait here," Andrews says, and her eyes are steely. "Don't move, do you understand me?"

Eva nods, and the detective disappears through the door. Alone in the harsh light of the observation room, her thoughts slowly clear.

She went to Spain to find a killer, but she found something else instead.

She wouldn't have thought she'd be able to recognize her father. It has been years since she last saw him. Inexplicably, there was no doubt when she first saw his silhouette in the crowd on the plaza: a stout figure, broad shoulders, a sharp nose. A week, she shadowed him in the narrow, shadowy alleys and sunlit plazas of the small Spanish town. She searched, asked, inquired. Nobody seemed to know him. She'd been close to giving up when someone had handed her the letter.

 _Tomorrow at noon._

It said nothing else, merely an address. It was this note – along with the artificially aged image Sebastian had sent to her, and her gut feeling – that strengthened her belief that her parents were trying to contact her. _That they were alive._ It was a surprise, a miracle – it was something that made her suspicious. The Major and Hickman would have killed her had she gone to the meeting without backup, so she called Tommy. They talked just long enough for her to hear the shot, and the clattering sound as his cell phone made contact with the pavement.

"Tommy? Tommy?"

No answer. She tried calling him back. Each time, the phone went straight to voice mail. Sebastian's, Arabella's, Hickman's and the Major's, too.

Eva couldn't remember ever having been this scared in a long, long time.

The next time her phone rings, it is the Major. She doesn't even think of ignoring it.

"Are you alright?"

"Tommy was shot, a graze. He'll be fine. He just woke up and refuses to stay put."

She drops to the floor of her hotel room, boneless in relief. "Thank God."

"Eva. Where are you?"

She is so sick of hiding and lying, so, so _sick_ of it. She's scared and worried and alone and desperate and _Tommy_ \- She just wants this to be over. She tells the Major everything.

"Hickman is going to talk to the psychiatrist. Our trap is set. We just have to wait for the auction to take place. Do you want to come home, Eva?"

 _Home._ It doesn't sound strange when he uses the word like that. Back in The Hague, she has a team of people she trusts with her life, who are her friends and her family and her anchor. What is she doing here? Chasing a ghost of past days? Her parents abandoned her. The man she's been searching for has been eluding her for a week now, why would he suddenly change his mind? And does it matter?

 _(Yes, it does.)_

But she can come back. She knows how to find him, now. She might come back one day, or might not. Right now, there are more important things to do.

"Yes." She tests the word carefully, and when nothing inside her dies, she continues on. "I want to go home, Major."

"I'm sending the helicopter. It should be there in five hours."

"Major, thank-"

That's when she hears the short, cut-off sound of a gun being fired.

Instinct: take cover, grab your own weapon, make for a place that allows for some measure of observation. In the darkness under her window, she can just see a man disappear in the shadows. He is holding a long, dark _something_ in his hand.

"Eva?"

"Someone's here," she whispers into her phone. "I think they're coming for me."

"Can you fight them?"

"I only have an extra clip and my gun."

Another shot, muffled, and her dread grows. "Doesn't seem like they care about casualties."

She inspects the room, the fire escape.

The Major swears, short and brutal. "Run. Don't take them on by yourself. Keep your phone with you so we can locate you. I'm sending Tommy and Sebastian over immediately, I need Arabella to coordinate the trap for the jewel thieves. Do you think you can make it until backup arrives?"

"Yes." At least, she thinks, grimly, she'll do her best. "Tell Tommy and Sebastian to meet me at the harbor."

"Will do. Take care, Eva. Stay alive."

She hangs up, puts her phone on silent, grabs some money from her wallet and opens her window. The night wind is soothing. The steps are on her corridor, now, they will be there any minute.

 _You're not dying here today,_ she thinks, defiantly. Her partners are on the way and together, they'll find out who's trying to come after her. _Not today. Just hold on a bit. They'll be here soon._

She begins climbing. But then someone's behind her, clambering up the ladder, following her. Eva climbs faster, it's not far anymore, and just when she heaves her body over the railing and onto the roof she can feel a hand clamp down on her ankle–

"Eva?"

Andrews is back, a bottle of water and a glass in her hands, her gaze concerned. It brings her back to reality with a start.

"Huh?"

"Here." Andrews pours her the water, hands her the glass. Eva drinks it in large gulps and distantly wonders why her throat is so dry.

"Have you calmed down a bit?"

As it is, that's a good question. One Eva can't really answer, at least, not now. Andrews doesn't seem to expect an answer. She just leans against the cold stone wall next to her and slides down until both of them are sitting on the ground.

"We don't get to choose our family."

The elder woman doesn't seem to be talking to Eva at all. Her gaze is distant.

"Hell, all of us are stuck with what we get. Hickman, he's been trying to get his brother away from dealing since he turned seventeen. My father wasn't exactly a nice man, either."

Eva isn't sure whether she wants to shout at the woman or laugh in her face.

She doesn't even know her. How dare she make assumptions? She just appeared in their bullpen a few months ago and claimed to have worked with Hickman, and then tried to get him to come back to the US. And now she's there again, weeks later _(after)_ , and it looks like she's about to stay. The Major offered her a place on the team. And she's good, or, at least, Hickman seems… She can't say, _softer_ , maybe – when she's around. But Eva is not ready to pour her heart out to the stranger standing next to her.

"Actually, you know what? I don't think I need to hear your entire, weepy family tragedy. I don't know you well enough for that."

That's… one way to say it. And more or less the same she has been thinking, too.

"You were just about to tell me to mind my own business, weren't you? I'll save you the trouble. I can't comprehend what you must be feeling. What I know, though, is that it hurts like hell."

Eva thinks of her possible responses and finally just decides on a laugh. "So that's why you and Hickman work together so well."

Andrews smiles; a kind, warm smile. "So that's why he cares so much for all of you."

She gets up and offers Eva a hand. "Let's make this little drug dealer sweat a little, shall we?"

Eva eyes her wearily. "Hickman's letting me in on the interrogation again?"

"Yes. You'll probably scare the living shit out of our suspect."

"That… sounds good."

"Great."

This time, Eva answers Amanda's smile.

In the evening, after the kid has spilled all his secrets and Sebastian has recovered the data from his hard drive, Tommy storms into the tech room, the somewhat semi-secret meeting point they have agreed on mutually, and pumps his fist into the air in the universal, international gesture for victory.

"You owe me 20 euros, both of you," he says.

Eva frowns. "Why?"

"Our bet. Remember?" Tommy waves his hand, vaguely. "Hickman. Andrews."

Sebastian moans. "Oh no, please tell me you didn't."

"What?" The Irishman grins. "She's moving in with him. They say it's temporary, until she has her own place, but I saw them arrive today. They were bickering like an old, married couple."

His observations, as usual, are uncanny. As it is, Eva agrees, but the last thing she will do is tell him this.

"Bet's not closed until it's proven."

Tommy rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and mock-sighs. "Aww, come on, Vittoria. They're an item. Every child can see it."

"Show me proof."

"If Sebastian would finally show us that video feed…"

"Nice try, McConnell. _No._ "

"So what am I supposed to do? Set up surveillance on them?"

At the thought of that, Eva can't help but laugh out loud.

Both Sebastian and Tommy exchange a glance she recognizes. Eva thinks, for a fleeting second, that she should be angry on her own behalf. They're treating her like a raw egg, a porcelain doll – as if anything might break her, any second. The worst is: she _feels_ fragile, too. But that doesn't mean that she can't continue on – or, even worse; that she needs to be protected.

And just now.

Just now, she feels like she will be fine again, one day. The Major was tortured and shot, and he's still himself. Hickman lost his hand, but he didn't lose himself. Eva won't lose herself, either. She's too stubborn for that. And she has Tommy, Sebastian, Hickman and Arabella – and Amanda, and the Major.

"I'd love to see what she would do if you tried that, Tommy."

He looks faintly uncomfortable at the thought of the newest member of their team venting her anger at him, and it makes her laugh even more.

She won't break this easily.

Here is what Eva Vittoria has learned: friends are people who catch you, even if you try to push them away in the process.

 _(You can rage at us as much as you want, Eva. We're not leaving.)_


	4. Carlton Hickman

**iv. Carl Hickman**

Profilers are taught to see patterns.

Movements, glances, actions – every minuscule detail is noted and set into a larger picture, and a person is extrapolated from there. Every little thing, every seemingly uninteresting fact can be a part of the broad tapestry that is a human mind. It's not an exact science. It involves guesswork and objectivity and subjectivity and experience, and it's in the human component - the human mind - that errors are based in. But it's damn close. It is a way to get to know people – and mostly, in the profiling business, strangers, and, even more common, criminals – on a basis more intimate than one gets to know many of the people in life one calls friends.

Sometimes, Carl Hickman has the distinct feeling that he is closer to some of the people he helped put away than to some of the people that are supposed to be his friends and family.

(Sometimes, this feeling turns out to be uncomfortably true.)

Knowing a person also means being able to predict, on an instinctive level, his or her actions.

It is always interesting when his time-honed instincts fail him.

"Ya wanted to talk about the Tiger."

Tommy drops into the chair on the other side of Carl's desk. It's eleven in the evening and the bullpen is empty; did the kid wait this long just to talk to him or was it the decision of a moment? Knowing Tommy, it's probably the latter more than the first. Carl takes his eyes off the screen and focuses on the man in front of him. He doesn't say a word, just waits. As predicted – and at least here he's right – the Irishman doesn't fidget, just plows onwards.

"The one who got away after the hostage situation in the bank."

"Yes."

"That day, I went to pick out the shooter. I said I didn't find him, but I did. Had him right in my crosshairs. But I let him go."

"Because he was your brother."

Tommy frowns. "How'dya know?"

Carl could tell him. He could tell Tommy about Rose, about the former girlfriend who married the brother. The woman who came to ask for help for a man who had threatened to kill him again and again, and whom Tommy, again and again, had spared. Had done everything to help. What did the Travelers expect? They cast him out. They abandoned him – and yet he wouldn't let go of his family. That's fine with Carl. Having no family left doesn't mean he doesn't know how one can feel about them. But he's not going to help the Travelers add to Tommy's misery.

"I put the pieces together. Besides, his accent was as horrid as yours."

Nobody says a thing for some time. Finally, getting uncomfortable, Tommy shifts.

"I couldn't tell ya. He is... family."

"He tried to kill you more than once."

"Yeah, but – I get him, ya know? He's my brother. I left the family, I sided with the bloody enemy. In their eyes, I'm the traitor."

Carl looks at his own hands: one of them a normal, work-weathered hand, normal fingers, nails. Sinew and bone. The other one: a leather glove. A useless relict that reminds him, daily and again and again, that he used to be different. Once upon a time; he used to be strong. A good shooter, a strong fighter. He used to be _more._ But the fact that he's different today doesn't mean he's _less_ , does it?

You always make it hardest for yourself, he can hear the echo of Amanda's voice. Trust the people around you. They're not going to leave you. I won't leave, either.

"Do you think you did the wrong thing?"

"By leaving the family? Nah."

"By letting your brother go."

He lets the kid think. Finally, Tommy shakes his head. "Nah. That wasn't the mistake."

"What _was_ the mistake, then?"

"I should've told the Major." He looks at Carl, honesty bright in his eyes. It makes him look so young. "I should've told _ya_. Ya deserved to know."

"I don't know about me. But you should have told the Major."

"What would he have done?"

"I don't know. But he wouldn't have sacked you. It was one mistake."

"It…" The kid sighs. "It won't happen again."

"Tommy. You're not supposed to have to choose between your family and your job."

"Sorry, but that's exactly what I hav- had to do."

 _Have to do._ Carl knows exactly what the younger agent wants to say, how he has to make this decision, consciously, every day again. Stuff like that... It's never past and buried. It's a part of them, haunts them with each breath they take, each decision they make. Maybe it's part of being who they are. Maybe... Maybe life's just like that.

"Whatever happens," he tells Tommy, and is surprised by the softness in his own voice. "Whatever might happen in the future, we'll find a way, okay? There will be a solution. We'll find it, together. Just tell us, okay?"

Tommy seems equally surprised. And maybe - relieved. "Okay."

Silence, again. It's not uncomfortable. It's calm, and filled with something Carl can't quite place. He's glad the kid finally told him. It's not like he was angry with him in the first place. He'd been angry, at one point. But he'd passed it some time ago. They all made mistakes, so this one was Tommy's. At least it showed the kid had his heart at the right place, and a loyalty that ran deeper than many rivers and oceans.

Finally, Tommy breaks the silence again. "If I hadn't left, I might've turned out like him."

Carl feels the smile tug at his lips and is careful to not let it show. "You mean, you'd be living in a trailer with a wife and half a dozen kids, teaching them how to pick pockets, making your money smuggling weapons and stuff through secret underground tunnels, and, all the while, secretly plotting the IRA's revenge on all British citizens?"

Tommy opens his mouth, closes it again. Grins – a ghost of his usual grin, but still a grin nonetheless.

"Nah. Somehow I can't see maself doing that, can ya?"

Carl feels the left corner of his lips twitch upward. "Doesn't sound like you."

They lean back again. Tommy blinks at the wall behind Carl, lost in thought. "Ya know, I think I'm done with them."

"Are you now?"

"Yeah. My whole life, I've tried ta get my da's approval. I guess it's time that I face reality."

"Maybe."

The kid doesn't need a pep talk. Carl has the feeling the Major gave him one already, anyway.

"I'm sorry ya got on the bad side of my family," Tommy offers with another ghost grin.

"They have a good side, too?"

"Oh yeah. As criminals go, they're a tough gang. Family ties and all – gives them quite some advantage."

"Let's hope we don't come across them another time, then."

"Oh, no worries. With my da an' Colin in prison it will take'em a while until they get their heads out of their asses again."

"I suppose having you all quiet and contemplative for one night was more than I could expect."

Tommy looks like he wants to shoot back an obnoxious answer. Instead, he just gets up to leave. "Good night, Hickman."

"Night, Tommy."

His computer has opened up the screen saver. Moving the mouse with is left hand, he listens to the kid's steps recede. Until they stop.

"Hickman?"

"Yes?"

"Thank ya."

"Yes, yes. Run off, now."

A light chuckle, and the steps disappear up the staircase. And then-

"Hickman?"

"Yes?"

Tommy walks back down the stairs. "It's about Eva."

Carl can feel his eyebrows rise. "Yes?"

"She… She's…" He stops, huffs, angry at himself. Blurts out: "Why the bloody hell aren't we goin' after those guys?"

Carl would laugh, except that this is a question he's been asking himself, too. Especially since Eva has been growing more and more withdrawn, and more and more silent. It's like she's barely _there_ anymore.

They didn't go after the guys that tried to kill her in Spain, months ago, before Louis was shot ( _my fault, my fault, my fault alone)._ It has been months since Carl ran into the hospital in Paris and found Sebastian, Eva, Tommy and Arabella sitting in the waiting room like a huddled bunch of lost children; since he thought _I cannot leave them._ It has been months since Louis woke up from the induced coma and convinced him to return to New York – as if he had known Carl would come back again. Months since he and Amanda both moved to The Hague. Months since they started working together again, Amanda and him and the team and him, since Louis returned to the headquarters, despite his physician's strictest orders not to involve physically in _any_ investigation. Months since they started to solve cases again, first a few, then more. Since routine returned, tentatively. Months since they had anything else to think of other than Louis' recovery and getting the team running again. But that is has been _months_ does not mean they have _forgotten_. None of them has, really, how could they? If anything, Eva herself won't be able to withstand the pressure. Her breakdown last week has proven this, clearly and unmistakably.

It's just that…

Well, that he hoped they wouldn't have to do this. But they have to. He, of all, probably knows best that the past is never dead and buried.

"Tomorrow, we're going after him."

The Irishman releases his breath almost explosively, as if he'd been waiting to do so for the past few hours. Days, even. Who knows. They've all been holding their breath, Carl is pretty sure. Tommy doesn't dispute, doesn't inquire further. He trusts him. It is, Carl realizes once again, one of the greatest gifts he ever received.

"We'll get them, won't we?" It sounds like a question. It sounds hesitant, as if Tommy isn't sure about the answer himself, and that, in itself, is unprecedented. Tommy always is confident. Tommy always knows what to do next. Carl can't help but like the little boy that sometimes appears in the grown man.

"We will."

The kid grins back, visibly relieved. As if he'd never doubted in the first place. "Of course we will. Night, Hickman." And then, finally, he disappears.

Carl leans back with a sigh and a smile.

He's getting old, if he gets to be the one who has to deliver the speeches he had to suffer through in the past. But these people here have come to mean too much to him to just leave them be.

Here is what Carlton Hickman has learned: he's not only getting old, he's getting soft.

 _(You'll laugh at me, Amanda, will you. I can't even anticipate my own next move.)_


	5. Sebastian Burger

_A/N: Thank you to an anonymous guest and to Mascota, for reading and reviewing this story!_

* * *

 **v. Sebastian Burger**

"And we had Schnitzel for dinner, with Pommes, and Mama said I was allowed to have a dessert but I wasn't hungry anymore so Jack got to eat the ice cream, we put the bowl on the ground and he pushed it around with his snout because he couldn't reach it and then Martin held onto the dish and Jack looked super funny because the ice cream was so cold but he didn't stop eating it and he was shaking his head the whole time and sneezing, and tomorrow there's no school because it's soooo hot here and Mama said I can go to the pool with my friends–"

"That sounds really cool," Sebastian smiles and wonders how it's possible that he's never bored by his son's chatter. But then, how could he? He's missing out on so much, living far away from where Kathrin raises their kid. He's incredibly thankful for every chance he has to spend more time with Erik, or even just to _talk_ to him.

It's terrifying, sometimes.

How much he loves him. How much he cares for him. How much he loathes even the thought of losing him. Is this what it means to be a parent?

And, if so, how could parents ever abandon their children just like that?

He never learned what exactly happened when Tommy went back to the Traveler's camp during the drug case in London, but when he returned to The Hague and they went out for a drink, he drank himself senseless. (And Hickman has been watching him extra-carefully, too.) And Sebastian's been with Eva when she met her mother again. It wasn't pretty.

In fact, it was...

He loathes to even think about it. As it is, of course, memories always return.

...

"Where the hell is she?"

When Tommy and Sebastian finally arrive at the harbor in the small Spanish town, they're close to sick with worry. Sebastian checks his mobile phone (and the app he installed, the newest version of his gps-locating tool that can find his team's mobiles almost everywhere) while the Irishman is literally pacing in circles.

"She told us to be at the harbor!"

"I'm here," Eva says as she steps out of the shadow of a palm tree, and it's everything Sebastian can do not to crush her into a hug.

She looks… tired. And lost. She is thinner, and her beautiful hair is twisted into a messy pony-tail, but her eyes are still green and clear. She holds her left arm like it is broken.

"Were ya followed?" Tommy looks like he's reigning himself in, as well. It hits Sebastian like a flash of lightning: how Tommy looks at Eva, and how Eva looks at him. And - it makes him sick. It hurts in a way he wouldn't have believed possible. In a second, he realizes three things: one, that Tommy, undeniably, is in love with Eva, two, that she might be starting to - or already does - reciprocate his feelings, and three, that he is jealous. And hurt. And angry.

And that he is being ridiculous.

Because they are in a serious situation right now, because they have no time for this. Because he always hoped that, maybe, one day, Kathrin and he and Eric would be a real family. Because Sebastian is his best friend, and Eva is, too, and nothing would make him happier than the two of them being happy with each other. Really, he would be. It's just...

 _I just don't want to be alone._

Of course, they don't notice. He wouldn't want them to. Time continues as if nothing has happened. The waves hit the beach; Tommy waits for an answer impatiently and Eva carefully lowers her right hand from where she is gripping her left arm, but when she moves it she grimaces in pain. "I don't think so. I lost them somewhere at the shopping plaza."

"What happened to your arm?"

"One guy caught me."

Sebastian feels his lips purse in anger, all prior thoughts forgotten.

"Ya look like ya need a break," Tommy says, and his voice is tighter than tight. It echoes the same, unspoken thoughts Sebastian is having. "Is there a safe place somewhere?"

"Are you kidding me?" Eva laughs, short and without humor. "They found me in my friggin' hotel room. And I bet everybody knows how I look. I spent the last week walking around, questioning people."

"Why the hell-" Sebastian shoots him a poignant look and Tommy stops himself. "Ya know what? Doesn't matter. Let's get outta here. The helicopter can pick us up-"

"No."

Eva and Sebastian say it at the same time. Tommy glares at him, but his glance becomes soft the second he turns to Eva.

"What do ya mean? They're looking for you. We have to leave the bloody country."

"If she leaves, they'll come after her," Sebastian says. "We need to assess the situation, gather intel. See who's been trying to contact Eva, what they want. Otherwise they'll just be coming after us."

He says _us_ deliberately and feels Tommy's agreement. It hurts, but just for a second. Eva looks like she wants to argue but they just plunge forward, reading each others' thoughts.

"Okay." Tommy's already shifting from his get-the-hell-outta-here to offense-is-the-best-defense-mode. "We need a place to regroup and plan."

"We have to call Hickman."

"Agreed. See what he can get from Dorn."

"Guys," Eva interrupts. "This is my investigation. I don't want you-"

"Too late, Eva." Tommy doesn't look back as he takes the lead, along the harbor promenade and towards the fishermen's wharf. Tourists are milling around in the square, so maybe they can get lost in the crowd. Sebastian puts on his sunglasses and shoulders his backpack. "If this concerns you, it bloody concerns us, as well."

"Should have worn sandals," Sebastian mumbles, more to himself.

"What?!"

"Sandals," he repeats, and the thought makes him snort. "German tourists wear shorts, socks and sandals, don't they?"

Eva rolls her eyes. "So clichéed."

But she smiles, minutely.

Tommy stares for another second, then turns around and resumes walking.

"You Germans are insane."

...

Two hours later, in a small hotel room in the outskirts of the town, Sebastian watches Eva towel off her hair awkwardly with one arm. Tommy's checking their weapons and ammunition. Sebastian goes over to help her, and she relents. For a few minutes, they awkwardly coexist in silence, long enough for Sebastian to marvel at the softness of her hair - and see Tommy's not-so-covert glances at them. He drops the towel as if burnt.

Eva doesn't notice, just finishes combing her hair. Then: "I owe you an explanation."

"Yeah, you do." Not even Sebastian's glance can stop the Irishman this time. "She does, though, doesn't she? She just disappeared without a bloody word."

Eva seems to shrink even more. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" Tommy throws up his hands, the same desperation Sebastian can feel clear in his eyes. "Explain! And make the bloody hell sure it doesn't happen again, dammit!"

It makes her frown first, and then look like she wants to cry. Finally, they receive a shaky smile. It's something, at least.

She's just about to start when Sebastian's phone rings. They jump, all of them, and wait in tense silence while he fumbles for it. His relief when he reads the caller ID is almost palpable.

"Where are you? Is Tommy there? Have you found her?"

Hickman sounds… worried.

"They're here," he tells their field leader, almost surprised at the rush of relief that follows the panic. Hickman's with them. They're not alone. Together, they'll see this through. It's not like they're unable to deal with their troubles all by themselves – but they're better together. "We found Eva."

Hickman breathes out, like he's not sure himself whether he's angry with them or relieved.

"Wait a sec." Sebastian puts the phone on speaker. "She just wanted to tell us what's going on."

"Before she starts, tell her to never run off like this ever again."

The ghost of another woman shines through his words.

...

Eva tells them: about her parents, about the village in Spain. About the man in the plaza, her fruitless search, the messenger that contacted her.

"You think your parents are still alive? And tryin' to kill ya?"

Sebastian glares. _Very sensitive, McConnell._ Of course, Tommy does not notice.

"Dorn didn't think your parents would be a threat," Hickman says. "He sent me some files of their alleged former business associates. I'm sending them over, can you have a look at them, Eva?"

They look through the files. Nothing stands out – drug dealers, traffickers, muscle – but Eva keeps returning to one image. Finally, she speaks. "This guy. I know him. He was at my parents' funeral."

"Are you sure?"

"It's been ten years, but… I think so."

Sebastian draws up the information they got and starts going through them bit by bit. Hickman continues to question her.

"Was he a business associate? A rival? The head of a different organization?"

"I don't know. I-"

A knock on the door makes them all start. Tommy jumps up and grabs his gun. He almost disappears in the shadow behind the door. Eva grips her own weapon tighter. Sebastian moves to open the door. One last exchange – they nod at each other – and the door swings open.

For a second, Tommy catches Sebastian's gaze, locks, holds. Something passes between them -

In walks a woman.

Eva breathes in sharply, the gun falling with her lifeless hands. Tommy puts his to the stranger's head. Sebastian closes the door and levels his own firearm at her from behind.

"Good evening," the tiny woman says, like she is not standing in a cheap hotel room with two guns trained on her. Her hair is as bright as a sunset. "I'm glad to see that you have such loyal colleagues, Eva."

Tommy presses the gun to her head harder, but she doesn't even flinch. "Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?" She asks back. "Eva has been showing around mine and Alberto's pictures in the whole town. Everybody knows who we are now. This is exactly what we've been trying to avoid." Her Italian accent is thicker than Eva's, the r rolling and heavy.

Pieces are coming together.

"Who are the people you've been fleeing from, then?" Tommy and Eva both shoot him a surprised glance. What did they expect? He's a detective, just like them. He can put two and two together and get five-and-a-half, as well.

"There was only one man who could rival my husband's and his friend's business back in the time," she says, walking over to the table and taking a seat uninvited. "What's this?" She looks at the phone on speaker, glares back at them. "Is someone listening in on us?"

The phone answers for itself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Vittoria. My name is Hickman. I am a member of the ICC team, as well."

"I don't like this."

"You will have to live with me listening in, Mrs. Vittoria. Otherwise, we're not going to help you."

"I go by the name Villaalta. I would prefer if you called me that. And I sure as hell did not come here for your help."

"Mrs. Villaalta then, it is. The connection stays. And I am pretty sure you need our help, despite your expressive negation."

If looks could kill via telephone, Sebastian thinks, wryly, Hickman would be dead on the ground. But the woman just turns away, opting to ignore him.

"I guess you've heard the name Petr Algryewizsc."

"A Ukrainian Cartel Head," Tommy supplies. "Drugs, arms and prostitution. What does he have to do with you?"

"Nothing that would concern the likes of you." Her eyes, so much like Eva's, are not steely with determination. They are _cold_. "Suffice to say that it was necessary to avoid him in the past."

"You faked your own death." There is pure incredulity in Tommy's voice, and in his face, and Sebastian shares his sentiment completely and utterly. "You left your daughter and ran for your own fuckin' lives."

"It was necessary, seeing as the attention you have been causing has alerted him to Eva's location. It's his people that are after you now."

Sebastian is withdrawing his prior evaluation. This woman is not cold. She is a damned witch. She doesn't even look apologetic when she casts her glance in Eva's direction. "Everything your father and I did in the past. The faked murders, leaving you like that... It was for your own protection."

"Don't bullshit me, Lady," Tommy snorts. "It was to save your own, cowardly asses. You didn't spare a thought for your daughter and what her life would be like."

"Everyone knew she was your daughter, didn't they?" Hickman adds. "She wasn't safer with you gone than with you around."

Sebastian can't contain his anger. "You rescued yourselves and left her out there to die! Like a sacrifice, wasn't it? Only it seems your enemies had more human emotions than you, because they left her alone. They didn't try to get back at you over her, because she was innocent! They showed more mercy than you and your husband did."

"Shut up!"

They're getting to her, which is exactly what they want. Still, one short glance at Eva shows the words that are supposed to draw her mother out of her reserve hit her deeply, as well. And Sebastian... He's sorry for that. He's deeply, utterly sorry. He can't even use noble words and pretend that it is for her that they are doing this, for keeping Eva safe, for the sake of protecting her from those following her. The truth is: _he_ wants Eva to be safe, and if that means they have to hurt her in order to protect her, then... It's not fine with him, but he's willing to take the chance. He thinks he knows Tommy is willing to do the same, too.

"Don't make assumptions, boy. What do you know about us?" The small Italian lady turns to her daughter. "Was it bad, the life you led? You had money to do whatever you wanted. You had a name, a status. You had a place to live. Was there anything you were lacking?"

Eva looks like the woman is ripping out her heart and trampling it, and Tommy is close to bursting with anger. And Sebastian… Suddenly, Sebastian feels old. Why is it that some people do not understand? It's not that difficult. Do these people really think money and status can replace a family and a home? If her husband is the same as her, he thinks, distantly, then the two of them deserve each other. It's just…

It's just so heartbreakingly sad for Eva.

Eva, who grew up thinking that she had lost her parents to a killer. Who cherished memories of her loving, kind parents that had been brutally murdered and who joined law-enforcement because she wanted to protect children from suffering like she had. Eva, who now is confronted with the fact that her parents did not die but faked their own death, left her behind and had been living in a village in Spain for the past fifteen-or-so years. And who, apparently, didn't care for her at all.

"How…" Eva clears her throat, but her voice is merely a whisper. "Were you always like this?"

The woman doesn't answer. It is the only kindness in her Sebastian can detect.

Instead, she draws up her bag and opens it. Immediately, Tommy has crossed the room and levels his gun at her again.

"Careful."

"I'd be _careful_ if I was you, Detective McConnell," Mrs. Vittoria – Villaalta – says coolly. "You don't want to risk any attention, do you?"

She pulls out a flash drive and places it on the table. "This is information on Petr Algryewizsc. It's probably old, Alberto and I have been out of this business for some years now. But I heard you guys are clever."

Sebastian takes the drive and eyes it wearily.

The woman laughs. "There is no virus on it, you know."

Still, he lets his scanner run over it, the special one he developed himself. Images pop up, receipts. Small maps. Grainy video files. More pictures.

"We can't use this in court," Tommy says, dismissive. "Useless."

"Wait," Sebastian says, concentrating on one of the pictures. Eva is still looking at her mother, unblinking. "This guy here. He's the one Eva recognized from-" he looks up, sighs. "From the funeral."

Eva crosses over, stands next to him. He can smell the clean scent of her freshly-washed hair and leans back. "Yes. There he is."

The picture is old, digitalized, no doubt, and shows a group of people on a yacht. They are smiling - it could be just a simple sailboat party, there is champagne, cloudless skies, laughter. There is a woman Sebastian knows must be Eva's mother in her late twenties, and a man who probably is Eva's father. Then, another one, who looks as young and as carefree as the others - Algryewizcs. And, in the background, another person, grainy, shadowed, dark hair and high cheek-bones and an unsmiling face.

Mrs. Villaalta crosses around the table. "Antonio Trentano was there?" She crosses her arms. "At the funeral? But he-"

Eva's eyes are glued to the screen. "I remember him. It was him."

"I'll see what I can find," Hickman says.

Tommy and Sebastian exchange a glance, then look at Eva. Eva looks back. Her eyes are huge, frightened - but there is strength inside her eyes, so much Sebastian wants to hold her close. She's strong. Always was, always would be. And on times she wasn't - well, they would be there with her.

"I don't understand," her mother mumbles. "But he died..."

Like some other people here in the room, Sebastian wants to add, but keeps to himself. Nobody is listening to her, really.

"That's enough for today," Hickman says from the other end of the line. "Come back home."

"But…" Eva's protest dies out when she looks at her mother. She swallows, then turns away deliberately.

"But?" Hickman repeats.

Tommy and Sebastian exchange glances. Sebastian speaks for the two of them. "Nothing. We're coming back."

"Good. Hurry. Things happened."

There is an urgency in his voice they can only detect because they know him. Suddenly even Eva seems to forget about the woman sitting with them, about the criminals shadowing her. Suddenly, the only thing that matters is that they get back.

"I'd like a word with my daughter," the woman says, surprising all of them. She stands next to the table, both hands open at her sides, her back a straight line despite her age. Tommy and Sebastian exchange a glance and then, as one, turn to look at Eva. The woman hesitates almost unnoticeably, then she shakes her head. A tiny movement, almost undetectable, and yet – final.

"I fear we don't have time for that, Mrs. Villaalta," Sebastian says, politely. "We need to return. Besides, Eva doesn't want to talk to you."

And there it happens.

There it is, just for a second, almost unnoticed. A tiny thing, really, and yet so earth-shaking: the mask cracks. It happens so quickly, unexpectedly: one second, her face is a mask of detachedness. The next, a sentiment runs over her face, something flashes in her eyes. Quickly, fleetingly. It's gone so fast, only seconds later Sebastian thinks he might imagined it. Her face is unreadable again, coolly calculating.

"Until later then, Eva. Detectives."

"I wouldn't count on it," Tommy mumbles.

...

Almost no wind.

The flight back to Paris is quiet and yet harsh, the night around them closing in on them like a living thing that gnaws at their defenses and jerks at their composure. Nobody knows what to expect, and yet all of them know there is _something._ The sense of foreboding Sebastian feels is mirrored in Tommy's and Eva's eyes.

They're all too exhausted to sleep.

In the darkest and most quiet moment, Eva reaches out to them blindly. Her voice almost drowns in the rumble of the helicopter.

"Thank you for coming."

They hold hands - each Tommy and Sebastian one of Eva's - awkwardly, stupidly, and yet reassuringly. Tommy's knee bumps into Sebastian's. He doesn't draw away.

They don't let go until the lights of Paris blink into view below them.

Here is what Sebastian Burger has learned: if it's for them, he'd do anything, over and over again.

 _(We'll follow you anywhere. We are a team. Don't leave us behind.)_


	6. Amanda Andrews

_A/N: This chapter's thank-you note goes to karolina2705, anonymous Guest and Trivette Lover Heather, for reading, reviewing and making me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. You guys are awesome!_

 _After this, only the epilogue is left._

* * *

 **vi. Amanda Andrews**

"Tomorrow," Carl tells her one evening, when the lights of the street lamps in front of their darkening living-room cast shadows onto his face that is both alien and heartbreakingly familiar to her and the silence is silver. It's been three months since she moved to The Hague. Since she started working with him again, and with the team.

Here is the strange thing: She only just met them, but it's as if she has known them for a long, long time already.

As if she always worked with them. Because of Carl, she followed their work closely, later on, he told her so much about them. They are familiar to her from nights spent pondering: how did they do it? How is it that these people, so common, so different from what he has known, have made him… yes, what? Made him different? He is a grown man, an adult, he has seen the things she has and has lived the time she has. People like them; they don't change anymore. They go through the day and see and even learn, but they don't change. And yet, these people, the work in Europe… it has changed him. Around them, he stands out less sharply. He doesn't blend in: she would never, ever mistake him for someone else in a crowd. But with the ICC team, he seems… softer. Less broken, less haunted, and, who knows, maybe that is a good thing? Maybe she, around them (him), also isn't as broken as she feels? Oh, but she doesn't really care for what _she_ looks like. They helped _him._ They made _Carl_ change, and they made _him_ _love them_ , and for that alone she will be eternally grateful.

And loving these kids, wanting to protect them: really, it comes naturally.

Maybe because Carl loves them. Maybe because she is grateful. Maybe because they make her love them, too: in fractions, bits and pieces. Because she loves them more with everything they experience together, with every little fragment of their characters they show her, even if the process is slow and painful. It's a strange team: Arabella, her fierce belief in justice burning so brightly; Tommy, so much like a child and yet so strong and dependable. Sebastian, whose ability with computers is amazing and whose loyalty is astounding; Eva, a beacon to the others, a warm heart beating for all of them, and the Major: holding them all together. And Carl: weathered, broken Carl with his useless hand and his sharp eyes, who can read the hearts of criminals and people and hers. Carl, who looks at her like she is the most precious thing in the world; it makes her breath catch, every time. They work together like they never separated in the first place: a well-oiled machine, unnecessary to even voice their thoughts. It is like it always was, except now they go home together in the evening and she can see his smile when he watches one of his old cop movies, and the simple view of his coat hanging next to hers makes her want to cry.

She doesn't reply. She just takes his hand, feeling his apprehension turning into relief, and smiles at him.

…

Turns out they have more information on Petr Algryewizsc than she expected.

Also more information than any one of them expected: because Carl went through Dorn's files with a spyglass already and Eva brought in the entire data she collected on the murder of her parents all those years ago, because Sebastian did some research in the darker parts of the net and Tommy called in favors from his friends, colleagues and contacts. Together, the whiteboard they fill _("The NYPD has no computers?!" –"We prefer old-school."_ ) is an impressive network of crime and corruption, a shadow empire of arms trade and human trafficking. The image of a man who carefully cultivated his game since the 90es and whose influence has grown even more with the beginning of the Ukrainian-Russian conflict.

"He's probably supplying the Ukrainian resistance." Tommy's voice cannot hide his disgust. Even after hours of going through their material, nobody of them can believe the magnitude of the crime ring all of them want to see reduced to ash. "Or the Russian forces."

Arabella shrugs. "Both, probably."

"There are no Russian forces stationed in the Ukraine."

Sebastian scoffs. "Next, you're going to tell me flight MH17 simply exploded by itself-"

Amanda sighs. "His net is tighter than a silk sheet. We don't have anything we can pin on him. We don't even have hard evidence he might be involved. We don't have any contacts anywhere close to him, and even if we had, we can't send anyone undercover because he probably knows more about us than we know about him. There's just…"

Carl catches her glance and shakes his head in warning. She catches his meaning and stops, but others don't see it.

"We're not going to contact them again," Tommy says, loudly, and all of them flinch. Because everyone knows that _they_ are Eva's parents, the source of all most of their information, and also the only people that could help them learn more. But they also know that they left their daughter thinking they had been murdered. Somehow, Amanda cannot imagine them coming running to help them solve the case.

"Tommy," Arabella says, reluctant but matter-of-factly. "It's Eva's decision."

Eva's voice is barely a whisper. "If you think we need them…"

"Not yet," Carl interrupts her, almost gently.

…

Two days later, Eva comes in late in the morning. Tommy is in the tech room with Sebastian, but Arabella and Carl are at their desks. Amanda is, too, and she greets the Italian detective with a nod and a flash of a smile, but Eva barely acknowledges her. Instead, she quickly checks for the others, takes in the two empty desks and walks up straight to Carl.

"Use me."

Carl looks up, and Amanda can see realization dawning behind his eyes, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

"What do you mean?"

Eva clears her throat. "We have nothing. No lead, no suspects, no evidence. We've been pushing night shifts for the past week and we haven't found anything we can use. We can't send anyone undercover, either. But there is one last advantage we have."

Arabella is still frowning, trying to piece together the puzzle, but she doesn't interrupt. In Carl's face, Amanda can see only sadness. He knows exactly what Eva is talking about. And because she knows him, she knows, too.

"No, Eva. We can't ask this of you. It's too dangerous."

"You sent Tommy back to the Travelers," she argues.

"He went on his own-"

"I want to go, too. And Algryewizsc already knows I'm looking for him. Use me as bait to get to him."

"It's not a good idea to send you anywhere near a person that wants to use you as a hostage against your parents." He is trying to hold back the flood with his bare hands and he _knows_ , and Amanda feels with him. "Not as long…" He stops, debating, and then plunges forward with what she knows is his last, fiercest argument. "Not as long as we can't be sure you'll be able to deal with it, Eva."

The red-haired woman looks at the floor. Her voice is barely audible. "I went to see Dr. Gordon."

That stops Carl in his tracks. "… You did?"

He is rewarded with a tiny smile. "Yes. Last week. Sebastian and Tommy… Well."

"Oh."

Amanda can almost see him breathe a sigh of relief. Then, immediately, his shoulders tense again. "Still. Eva, we can't just send you out as bait. That man is dangerous."

This, Amanda thinks, might be a good time to butt in.

"Carl," she calls him, softly, and watches his entire focus shift towards her. It is answered by the by-now familiar warmth spreading through her, but this time, she pushes it down. "It's Eva's decision."

He sighs, and closes his eyes. Eva gifts Amanda with a smile, and it seems much more radiant than before. Amanda smiles back.

"And besides, what's with this man – the one you recognized from the photographs? Antonio Trentano?"

…

Turns out Antonio Trentano worked for Eva's parents.

It also turns out he has been watching over her after her parents' faked demise, and has never really stopped looking out for her. Amanda wonders how Eva never noticed – but then, the man's a street-hardened Mafioso. Apparently, he never was ambitious enough to take over when Eva's parents left, but – well. Sebastian – ever the optimist – voices the suggestion that perhaps her parents tasked him with her protection. Tommy and Arabella agree, and Eva almost smiles. Amanda waits until she and Carl are alone to look at him, and, in his eyes, sees the same thoughts she has.

But as long as it makes Eva feel better–

It takes them half a week to find Trentano – he left the clues on purpose, Amanda suspects for exactly this reason – and another few days to go through the information he has gathered on the Ukrainian cartel head. At the end of two weeks, they do not have more evidence for a prosecution. But they have detailed information on where to find their enemy, and about his next operation.

"Never underestimate the power of old connections", Carl jokes, one evening, over cold pizza and some amazingly sticky Dutch waffles. They really ought to get down to some cooking; ordering dinner every second day can't be good for their health. Carl cooked for them in the past and didn't do an all-too-bad job then. She loved sitting in his small NYC loft, watching him handling pots and pans, it was one of the things that made her relax. But she's can't ask him now, can she? Since he can't use his right hand anymore, and stuff. There are still things they tip-toe around, topics they don't breach, but she wishes–

Amanda pushes aside the thought and tries to laugh as he expects her to, and maybe she lets down her shield because she's distracted. "At least it's not Genovese this time."

They freeze, both of them. The silence is painful.

Carl swallows and clears his throat. "You still think we should let Eva go there all by herself?"

She hates herself, so much she could cry. She smiles, instead, and takes a bite out of her waffle. "She won't be alone. I'll go with her."

It has the expected effect, and the dreaded reaction. The intensity in his gaze is scorching. "Amanda-"

"It has to be me. They know all of you already, don't they?"

"But-"

The best defense is a good offense, and they're nothing but practiced. "Are you trying to protect me because we're sleeping together, Hickman? Because, if so, I swear I'm going to make sure you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

He gets up and begins clearing away the dishes even though he hasn't finished his dessert yet. Amanda knows she has won.

It is not a good feeling.

…

Eva travels to the Ukraine – a feat in itself, seeing the conflict-torn country – with a faked background from Sebastian's making that is just a tad _not_ good enough to cover her completely. Carl had argued that Algryewizsc knew about her, and her background. If they wanted her to look like she wasn't in the Ukraine on official business but on her own, she couldn't have a perfectly crafted cover. The others follow, on civilian routes: Amanda and Carl fly in as a couple on vacations, awkwardly pretending they are not not speaking to each other. Arabella is a bank manager on a business trip. Tommy and Sebastian – there is no disguising them, really. Tommy is almost reconciled with the fact that they'll be away from Eva when they show him his and Sebastian's intended means of travel: a motorcycle. Two guys on a last journey before one of them marries (Sebastian, Tommy argued, Sebastian was the guy who was going to get hitched, _because nobody will bloody believe I am_ ); there actually is no better cover for them than that. Sebastian just sighs.

The Major sends them off with his usual smile, but to Amanda, it feels brittle.

He corners her before she leaves for the evening, in the dark entrance hall of the ICC building. The court above them is asleep, and the team's bullpen below is filled with the calm before the storm.

"Usually I'd say this to Hickman, but I fear…" He hesitates. "He's too involved. All of them are, really."

"It's about Eva. It involves all of us."

Louis Daniel hesitates again. "I know. It's just…"

Amanda smiles, even though it hurts. "They'll be back safely, Major. Don't worry."

"I know." He sighs. "I just wish…"

"It's never easy, staying behind and waiting."

"No, it's not. Though I suppose I don't have to tell you. Thank you, Detective. Good night."

"Good night, Major."

He departs, and, politely, she waits for a few minutes until she follows after him. He walks slowly, limping visibly. Tonight, he walks as if he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

When she comes home, Carl is already in bed, asleep. She can tell he's pretending. She doesn't call him out on it.

The next day, they leave.

…

"You are a woman that is hard to come by, Ms. Vittoria."

The funny thing: Petr Algryewizsc is not the typical, rich and arrogant arms dealer, and he's not the typical, brutal and uncouth gang leader. He looks _normal_ , somehow, with his glasses and his leather jacket and his ironed slacks. He looks like a man one could meet on the street and greet, and pass by without suspecting anything. A business man on a business trip. His smile is so open and honest she might have fallen for it. And he is charming, but without arrogance. Amanda approaches him in the hotel bar (oh how Carl loathes it, she can feel his anger all the way through her ear piece) and it turns out to be a comfortable, interesting evening. He is funny. He is polite. Meeting under different circumstances, she might have liked like him, might–

The truth of it makes her sick. This is a slave trafficker, an arms dealer, and he is as agreeable as they come. How is that even possible?

"I came here to tell you that my parents are dead," Eva says, coolly. "And now, leave me the hell alone."

"But, Ms. Vittoria, I think we both know I cannot do this. And that you are lying."

"I-"

"And, before you say anything else, I also know that you brought backup. But really, how much good will your colleagues do? You came to me willingly enough. This is _my place._ Do not believe, for one moment, that you will be able to leave as easily as you entered."

"I don't like your threats. Whatever was between my parents and you – it does not involve me. Stop following me, I'm telling you one last time."

"Ms. Vittoria, I think you're forgetting something. What do you bring to the negotiation table?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you demand something from me, you surely are willing to offer something for it in return."

"What do you mean?"

"You work for the ICC, don't you? I'm sure we could come to an agreement that would benefit each one of us mutually-"

And then it goes to hell in a handbasket, and _it's not your fault it's not your fault dammit Carl it's not_. He has been tearing himself apart with guilt since the day Tommy got shot – and everything else happened. _But. S_ he loves the man, God help her, she wouldn't have expected ever to fall in love again like this. She's been through an abusive father, the police academy, a childless marriage and a divorce, alcoholism and self-pity, through anger and loneliness, and through most of it, he has been by her side. She lost him twice and found him again _twice_ and it's so damn hard to look at him and think _don't you dare ever leave again I won't let you so God help me_ – and, at the same time, to know: she'd let him go, if he wanted it. Because she loves him so much it feels like she is falling apart – and then he picks her up again, just like that. So, _it's not._ It's not his fault, how can it be, he saves her again every day so how can it be his fault if he's not there just once? It is neither of their fault, actually, neither Carl's as their team leader nor Tommy's, who's on overwatch, neither Arabella's, who's liaising with the Ukrainian forces, nor Sebastian's, who's in the silent voice in their ear buds. Nor is it Eva's, not even though it is her parents that brought all of them here.

It's just an operation.

" _She's_ with _you_?" Algryewizsc looks at her, his surprise carefully concealed but _there_ , and then it's replaced with a smile. "You really got me fooled there. Here I was, thinking you really were a business woman on a trip. I even hoped to see you at the bar again tonight. Sorry it had to end like this, Alexa. But that's not your name, is it?"

"It's Amanda."

"Amanda. A beautiful name. It's a shame, really."

It's not Carl's fault, or Eva's, or anyone's. It's not even Amanda's own fault.

It's a man looking at the wrong car at the wrong moment, and a child passing by at the wrong time. And then there is shouting and shooting and Eva is running _(don't let them get you)_ and Amanda can hear Tommy picking off Algryewizsc's people with his rifle. There are sirens in the distance; most likely Arabella and Sebastian with the Ukrainian police. She cannot hear Carl.

She takes a shallow breath and holds it, puts down her emptied gun and closes her eyes.

…

She wakes up in a hospital.

 _How much time has it been? What day is it? How long has she been here? Where are the others? Are they safe? Dammit, she promised the Major–_

Carl is asleep next to her, his head pillowed on his arms. In the chair on the other side of the room, Eva stirs quietly.

Amanda would bet anything she has on the fact that Tommy and Sebastian are the shadows of the people perched outside her door, and that Arabella and the Major aren't far.

"Did we get the bastard?" Her voice is barely audible. Yet, Carl starts awake and blinks at her, almost uncomprehendingly. And then he propels himself forward, wrapping his arms around her, and God, it _hurts_ , but she refuses to move because he is _alive_ and she is, too.

Eva's smile is part relief, part exhaustion, part barely-forgotten pain, as she gets up from her chair and steps towards the bed. But there is _something_ in her eyes, something in the way she leans towards the bed, something in her shoulders.

"Yes."

"Good."

And there is not really anything left to add to that. Eva knows, because she smiles at Amanda one last time over Carl's head.

 _"Thank you."_

Then, she leaves the room.

Later, Amanda will learn that she is in a German hospital, that, after she got shot, Eva escaped and Arabella and Sebastian arrived with the Ukrainian police and that Algryewizsc tried to kill the children he was intending to sell but was shot in the shoulder by Tommy. He then tried to escape but was apprehended and taken into custody, and is now facing charges in front of the International Crime Court. Later, Amanda will learn that she lost so much blood the EMTs were really worried, that the bullet grazed her kidney but that the surgeons had managed to save her, and that she will need some recovery time but that she will be fine again, one day. But that all will come later.

Right now, Carl's arms are so tight around her that it's painful, really. But he's _there_ , hard and warm and _alive_. And she's still alive, too, and they're _both_ still there. In the darkness of the last night before they left for the Ukraine she might have wondered if they could live like this, in a relationship built on her leaving behind everything to follow him, whether he could live with that, and live with the thought that she had known him _before._ But, by God, even if she doubted now she knows without the shadow of a doubt that _she can_. She left New York behind for him, she left it _for_ him, and she will never, ever regret her decision. She loves him enough to want to kill him, sometimes, enough to want to bury herself within his bones and his heart as to never be without him anymore, and she can just hope he feels the same. But in the way he holds her with almost desperate strength, she _knows._

Amanda exhales slowly, closes her eyes and buries her face in Carl's hair. His arms around her don't loosen despite the pain, and she doesn't care at all. His whisper is almost inaudible.

"Don't ever do this to me again."

…

"Detective Andrews, welcome back," Major Daniel greets her when she walks into the bullpen again the first time after the Ukraine. "And congratulations."

Eva and Arabella are there, holding cupcakes. Tommy's grinning like a Cheshire cat. There are flowers.

Amanda looks at them, her eyes forming slits. "Why the heck?"

"We're celebrating," Sebastian informs her.

"What?" She can't help the dangerous note slipping into her voice, because a realization is forming in her head.

"You," the Major supplies, smiling.

"Huh? Why? Because I was shot and survived?" Amanda tells herself to shut it before she regrets saying anything, and yet it spills. "I was lucky, hell, that's no reason to celebrate! Are you out of your minds?"

Behind her there is a noise, like Carl has accidentally swallowed his own spit and is trying to contain his coughing fit. She whirls away from the Major, shoots glares at Arabella, Eva and the boys.

"I swear, if that's your way of trying to tell me you're gonna treat me like a raw egg from now on I'll teach you a painful lesson-"

"Detective Andrews."

"Major, I don't-"

"Amanda."

She stops, her heart running a mile a minute. It's not something to celebrate, the fact that she survived, when other people, _good_ people, died–

The Major looks at her, his eyes full of understanding.

"You've been with us for a half a year now."

Carl is still laughing ten minutes later.

He cooks for her that night. It's a simple dish that nevertheless takes him almost an hour to prepare, and the pasta is a tiny bit overcooked.

She's never had anything more delicious in her life.


	7. Louis Daniel

**vii. Louis Daniel**

The first thing he notices when he resurfaces from the dark, drowning depth of unconsciousness is how he feels _light_. Almost as if he is floating. Then, he thinks it might be the bed: it is moving softly, gently like a boat on the water.

But he does not know where he is.

Blinking past the rush of panic, he sees Rebecca, asleep on the cot next to his bed. The smile is natural, along with the overwhelming sense of relief.

As is the reaching out-

 _Pain_.

Flashing through him. Through his entire body, from head to toe. Radiating out from his stomach, wave after wave. Something is wrong, he thinks, dimly, and then focuses on simply breathing.

 _Breathe. Calm down. What is going on here?_

"Louis?" Rebecca wakes up like always, slowly and then suddenly and completely. She is at his side within seconds. "No, don't move! Breathe, love, just- Doctor, please, he's in pain!"

 _Carl, the psychiatrist, a farm hours in rural Paris. A gun, pointed at him–_

There is a rush of sound, people running, calling out instructions. The only real thing is Rebecca holding on to his hand, refusing to move – and the pain pulsing through him. Then, the beeping sound of machinery recedes as his frantic heartbeat slows down and the drugs take over again. His head is fuzzy. His entire thought process is so slow he wants to scream. He wets his lips – Rebecca helps him drink some sips of water – and stares at the ceiling, wordlessly, until he falls asleep.

When he finally wakes up with a mind clear enough to ask questions, Rebecca is asleep on the cot (wearing something different, how much time has passed?) and Carl Hickman is sitting in a chair next to the windows. He looks… terrible, to say the least.

"What…" He has to take a breath. His voice sounds like sand paper, and the words hurt in his throat. "What happened?"

Carl stands, stiffly – a testament to how long he must have been sitting there already – and walks to the other side of the bed. Louis turns his head – it is heavy, so very heavy, but at least there is no pain – and asks the second question, more urgently than the first.

"Where are the others?"

And Carl…

Carl smiles. It is an exhausted, drawn smile, but something in Louis' heart relaxes in relief.

"Tommy and Sebastian brought Eva back. They're fine. All of them are."

"Thank God."

Louis closes his eyes, takes a breath. He cannot expand his chest too much, he notices, lest the pain returns. But right now, this… it is fine. Somehow.

"I'd tell you about everything," Carl says, quietly, "but you're banned from even hearing the word _case_ until the doctors say otherwise."

Something in his tone makes Louis look at him again.

"What happened?"

Carl understands. He always did – they are similar, in a way, and very much so. Louis is glad his friend made it back after Genovese. After Ann-Marie. After everything.

"Eva's mother appeared. She gave us some information – I'm working on it. But I'm not telling you more until you're better."

"Ah." Louis leans back, tries to relax his muscles that protest from misuse – and, in the course of it, triggers some pain that is even worse. He breathes in deeply, hoping Carl hasn't noticed anything, but when their eyes meet he _knows._ Carlton Hickman is no stranger to pain.

It makes him smile; and, after a second, Carl almost smiles back.

"And… this?" Louis would gesture to the hospital room, but he doesn't dare move again. Hickman understands, anyway.

"You've been in a coma for two weeks. You were shot. That woman-" Carl clenches his jaw, his fist. Louis can see the guilt flash in his eyes. He knows it himself. _If I had been faster, better, stronger – then this wouldn't have happened._ There is no use beating oneself up. But guilt is not rational, never is. It does not go away because there is a logical answer to everything else.

"You…" Louis has to clear his throat. The American helps him with his water glass, but between a man who just regained his consciousness with a hole in his stomach and a man who lost the use of his dominant hand, they spill more water onto the sheets than he actually manages to drink. Not that it matters. "You couldn't have known, Carl."

"I should have anticipated it. I saw her as what she was. I just didn't expect-"

"You are not unfaultable. Neither am I. Eva." He does not manage to complete the sentence because a jolt of pain has him draw in his breath, sharply. Next to him, Rebecca stirs. Louis holds his breath and counts to twenty.

"Eva. Is… is she alright?"

Carl's perpetually shadowed gaze darkens even more. "She's fine. Physically, at least."

"Huh."

There is more he could say. More he wants to say, too, because if Tommy is like a son to him Eva is like a daughter. All of them are, really. He has not expected to come to care for them so much, but now he does and he cannot go back.

"Dorn is already preparing the prosecution," Hickman says, reading Louis' mind. "We'll get them, don't worry. Focus on getting better, okay?"

Louis wants to continue asking. He wants to help organizing and wants to go after the people that have endangered his team, wants to make then pay for the pain they have inflicted on Eva and, in consequence, onto all of the others. But there is something in Carl's eyes – darkness, and insecurity, and relief mixed with guilt and exhaustion and more guilt – that makes him stop.

"Carl," he says instead, his hand finding his friend's arm despite the numbness of the painkillers. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." The response is automatic. Even drugged and injured in a hospital bed, Louis Daniel can see a lie for what it is.

"You're not. Can you tell me?"

Carl Hickman turns away halfway and stares at the wall. His lips tighten. He looks _old._ Well, Louis thinks, with a pang of sadness, gratitude and irony all in one, these past weeks have taken years of all of them, probably.

"Not now," he finally says. "But I will, I promise."

"Okay." He can live with that. Sometimes, patience is more than simply a means to an end.

Carl glances at the clock at the wall. "Sebastian will be here soon. I have to go. Dorn keeps asking for our official report."

Louis thinks that – _wait_. "Have you set up a schedule to watch me?"

Carl grins. "As if we'd do something like that." He sobers. "No, seriously. We all would feel a lot better if you let us do this, Louis. We promise we're not getting in the way."

Louis sighs without much strength. "I probably can't persuade you otherwise."

"Well." Carl's grin turns self-deprecating. "You can _try…_ "

"Louis?" Rebecca's voice is thick with sleep. Her hands search his even before she opens her eyes. "Oh, thank God, you're awake! Are you in pain?"

Suddenly, the only thing he sees is her face. Louis has to swallow at how beautiful she is.

"Rebecca."

He hears steps leaving the room and, briefly, imagines his team: one of them standing guard in front of the plain hospital room, Carl, Sebastian, Tommy, Eva or Arabella. As if he was important. As if he meant something to them. It is… humbling. It is more than he ever would have dreamed.

"They are crazy," Rebecca whispers in his ear after they have watched Carl leave and Sebastian take his place. "They've been here for the past two weeks."

"You have been here, too," he reminds her, gently.

Rebecca presses her lips to his hand. "I love you. So do they, apparently."

Her voice is playful, but her words are full of gratitude.

Louis chuckles. "What would I do without all of you." When she glares at him, he laughs again softly and stops immediately. The movement is painful.

"I love you, Rebecca."

"I love you, too."

Her kiss is careful, quick, it fills him with warmth. She slips onto the thin bed next to him, puts her head to his shoulder.

"So what's with Hickman?"

They never really discussed his team in the past. But since she returned to the ICC to work as a prosecutor once again, she has met them often enough. And, Louis figures, since they agree on how much they mean to him, he cannot leave her out of it.

"I think he's thinking of returning back to the States. His former partner called me sometime ago. She wanted to show him some opportunities."

"Hm." Rebecca's voice is thoughtful. "What will you do if he leaves?"

"I don't know, honestly. I just hope…" He takes a breath. "I just hope he will make the right decision for himself."

She shifts against him, minutely, trying not to cause him pain.

"And what about the others?"

"I'm worried about Eva," he confesses silently. "She must be struggling. Carl wouldn't tell me everything, but I'm sure whatever has happened has upset her greatly. She always loved her parents a lot. Seeing them again - after believing them dead - it must have been horrible for her. And Sebastian and Tommy will be worrying for her. They always do."

"They are always together, aren't they?"

"In a way, yes."

"And Seeger? Doesn't she feel left out?"

"Honestly? I don't know. She's different, not as dependent on others as the others are. But she's always been a part of the team. I don't know what I'm going to do if Carl leaves. He always managed to balance them out, somehow."

"You did, too."

"Yes. But he was a part of the team. I am... I was..."

"That doesn't make you less a part of them, you know?"

He _knows_. But sometimes... "Sometimes, it doesn't feel like I am."

"But you are. Look at them. They're here, aren't they?"

There is no denying that, he guesses. And they came back for him twice now. He can close his eyes again and again, but he cannot refuse the truth. He is a part of the team, too.

"Yes. Yes, they are."

His wife turns to face him, her eyes gentle. Her voice is silent, but the security in her tone is magnificent.

"It will be alright, Louis. Don't worry. Everything will turn out just fine."

 _Rebecca_ is magnificent.

And Louis realizes that he has been worrying about making her understand in vain. There is no need to explain himself to her when she already understands him, he does not need to make explanations because she _knows_. She understands him and his concerns, his hopes and his fears. The sudden rush of love he feels for her is dizzying.

"Yes," he repeats, softly, and leans down to kiss her hair. "Everything will be alright."

Her smile is brilliant.

This is what Louis Daniel has learned. He has been taught by the people he works with, those amazing, wonderful, broken people he selected himself as a means to an end and who stayed with him, regardless. He has been taught by his oldest friends and by his new team, by the people that have become so precious to him over the past year that he would rather give up on his revenge than lose one of them. He has been taught by his son: how precious it is to love, and how human to hurt. And that both belongs to each other, intertwined until the end. And finally, he has been taught by Rebecca: his wife, the person he gave his heart to all those years ago and who has carried it with her through the seasons.

Everything will be alright.

Through the curtains, he can see the sunrise.

 _trust your heart  
if the seas catch fire_  
[e. e. cummings]


End file.
